


Thinks outside the box

by wtfkovah



Series: Sweater Vest Stories [6]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Boss/Employee Relationship, Cute, Eventual Romance, Fluff, M/M, Out of Character, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: Jihoon invites his boss to dinner.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: Sweater Vest Stories [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736101
Comments: 24
Kudos: 262





	Thinks outside the box

**Author's Note:**

> REUPLOAD

"What’s your fucking problem now, you bastards?"

Jihoon practically chokes on his coffee, even though this has become a frequently heard phrase around the office as Choi Corp’s latest project bid—the restoration of Notre-Dame Cathedral—heads into its final phase of approvals.

With all the media coverage the fire garnered, restoring the Cathedral to its former glory has become a very high-profile, highly sought-after project. And as a result, has descended into an all-out bidding war between the top-ranking engineering companies. From what Jihoon can gather, this means a flurry of last-minute paperwork, red tape and harassment from tight-fisted French bureaucrats who can’t tell their assholes from their elbows—this is Seungcheol's opinion anyway, muttered under his breath as he slams the phone down, frazzled and irritated, and reaches for a cup of coffee that’s probably cold by now.

Jihoon whisks it away from under his nose before he can take a sip and get _angrier_ , and scurries off to make him a fresh one. When he comes back into the room, Seungcheol’s got his difficult-problem face on as he stares out across the city.

“So,” Jihoon begins, setting the coffee on the desk. “I take it you didn’t get the news you were hoping for?”

Seungcheol's laugh is short and bitter, “Not exactly. The preliminary bidder pulled out, so the contract’s back up for grabs. Which is _good_ —but I doubt we can secure it anyway. We’re still facing a lot of competition from other companies—companies that are ready to make compromises on quality where I’m not. I had hoped our reputation could speak for itself, but we’ve only just broken into the European market, so it’ll take a few years before we can build the right connections and make our mark.”

Jihoon nods sympathetically; he might not understand the nitty-gritty of their business, but he still shares Seungcheol’s frustration.

He wishes modern business didn't run this way, with the bidding wars and the red-tape and budget deficits, because he would much rather have the sleek, Mad-Men-esque style of business, with the schmoozing and the showmanship and the _cigars_. Except maybe not the cigars, because smoking is bad. But old-timey business styles seem like much more fun.

“It’s a shame you can’t meet the French architects in person and convince them. I always imagined these contract negotiations would involve a lot of glad-handing and schmoozing, where you’d bribe them with five course meals and fat cigars after. Except maybe not cigars, because smoking is bad, but maybe you’d bribe them with cookies or something.”

Seungcheol makes a face. Not necessarily disapproving but conflicted all the same.

“Are you saying I should go to Paris and convince these guys in person?”

Jihoon swallows uncomfortably, “Well, I just thought…with it being such a huge contract and all, they might appreciate it more if a _senior_ member of our company liaised with them.” He murmurs.

Annoyingly, it sounds a lot weaker now that he was actually saying it out loud. It had sounded better in his head.

In his head it sounded _clever_.

“Senior like me?” Seungcheol asks politely, eyebrow raised.

Jihoon tries to speak again, but it feels like his throat is having an allergic reaction, like it's clogging up and he has to push past it to make himself understood. Sometimes having conversations with Seungcheol make him feel two feet tall, and not because Seungcheol doesn't listen to him, but because Seungcheol _does._ Where normally he'd expect to be brushed off, Seungcheol actually stops what he's doing and _looks_ at him, waits for him to finish and just that little bit of attention can be too much to handle. 

Jihoon looks at his hands so he doesn’t have to look at Seungcheol’s face.

“I’m sure Wonwoo’s doing a great job, but he’s all about the numbers, and yeah—that’s important, I get that, but this—this building is one of a kind. It’s historically and architecturally significant to their culture. I personally don’t think they’ll _care_ how much it costs to restore it, as long as they get the right people to do it. People who can show they love that building as much as they do. So if we need to convince them that that’s _us_ —” He raises his eyes to drive his point home. “It would be better to make the effort and go in person and send someone who can really charm them.”

“And you think that’s _me_?” Seungcheol says slowly. He takes a moment to think about it and then he flashes Jihoon a smile that can melt stone. “You think I’m _charming_?”

Jihoon doesn’t understand why Seungcheol sounds so disbelieving. He doesn’t doubt for a second that Seungcheol can charm with the best of them—he’s got _spades_ of the stuff. He can spin words like cotton candy on a stick, tongue-tingling and more palatable than anything anyone else is capable of. 

“You _are_ the CEO. And okay, you can be pretty grumpy sometimes, but I’ve also seen you do that schmoozing gig with certain people, and it’s always _very_ effective. In all honestly, I think you could charm the pants of anyone if you put your mind to it.”

Seungcheol’s disbelief is still palpable—if only through a single raised eyebrow. “Charm _the pants_ off huh?”

Jihoon looks up at Seungcheol’s sly grin, smouldering eyes, and slicked back hair, and has to tuck back the _‘Well I’d drop my pants for you in a hot second’_ that's threatening to escape.

There's making an effort at being a good PA, and then there's being obvious enough to be seen from Alpha Centauri.

“Yes.” He says meekly. “I think you’re a very charming person.”

Seungcheol gives him a sideways look through his lashes, voice low and flirty. “That’s good to know Jihoonie.”

Jihoon wets his lips. He has this too-warm sensation in the pit of his stomach—and, well, other places.

“Anyway, it was just a suggestion—" He murmurs awkwardly, hunching his shoulders and tipping his head so that his hair falls forward, hiding his face. “It’s probably not that helpful. I mean, what do I know? I’m just a PA after all, I can’t really pretend to know how any of this works. Anyway, uhm—I think I should—”

He fumbles for a new topic, something to distance himself from Seungcheol, or even to distract himself from the swooping sensation in his stomach—when Seungcheol’s hand reaches out to tilt his chin up.

“It’s a good suggestion Peanut.”

Jihoon raises his head and gawps at Seungcheol with wide eyes. “It—it _is_?”

Seungcheol drops his hand to Jihoon's shoulder, moving it lightly over the fabric of his shirt in a reassuring squeeze, “Yes, very clever. I like your out-of-the-box approach, and I doubt many other engineering companies would have considered the personal touch when bidding for a contract. I think this is _just_ the tactic we need.”

‘Yay’ Jihoon cheers himself mentally, because no one has ever valued his contribution. Not at school when they were picking teams for PE, or at college when they were assigning tasks in group projects, or even when he used to work at Starbucks and practically ran the place in the manager’s absence. His efforts to make a difference, to be noticed as a valuable member of the team had always been dismissed. But here, now—validation feels pretty damn good.

Especially when Seungcheol’s the one dishing it out.

Apparently he says all this out loud because Seungcheol laughs and ruffles his hair.

“Well I definitely appreciate your contribution peanut. In fact—" He moves over to his desk, cracking his knuckles, “It’s _such_ a good idea, I’m going to call Jeonghan right this moment to let him know I’ll be leaving the country soon.” 

Jihoon smiles and rushes back to his desk, pens a quick email to his mother about his super helpful contribution, while Seungcheol has a yelling match in the corner that goes something like:

_“Jeonghan, see this conference call on Monday—scrap it. I’ve decided I’m going to Paris in person. No, I’m not being impulsive. It’s clearly a historically and architecturally significant building for the people of France, and we need to reach out to the Cathedral reps, personally. So I think it’s best I meet in person, so I can charm them. Wait, why are you laughing you supercilious asshole? Well I have it on very good authority that I can charm the pants of anyone I like. What do you mean his opinion doesn’t count? Of course, it does. No, he’s not biased. You know what, kiss my ass. I’m going to Paris.”_

He slams the phone down on the receiver and point at Jihoon, “Peanut, get me on the next flight to Paris.”

Jihoon scrambles to close his email browser and open his search browser. “Really? The next flight? Isn’t that a little hasty? You haven’t even secured a meeting with them yet.”

Seungcheol’s anger driven enthusiasm seems to wind down a little then, “Well, no. Not the _next_ flight. I was just being dramatic. Monday should be fine.”

Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief and starts looking up flights.

“Okay, so, I wanted to run a few options past you.” Jihoon announces, approaching Seungcheol’s desk an hour later, itinerary in hand, “There’s a flight leaving on Monday at 09:05 am, which gets you in to Charles de Gaulle airport at 14:10 the same day. And there’s one later, leaving at 13:20 which gets you in at 18:30. If you don’t like the sound of _either_ , there’s an overnight flight leaving on Sunday, which gets you there bright and early on Monday morning. I don’t know how well you sleep on planes, but the first-class seating seems pretty cushy.”

Seungcheol’s fingers slow over his keyboard then, and he swivels his chair around, pins Jihoon with a questioning stare.

“Are you…trying to book me a seat on a plane?”

“Well, _yeah_.” Jihoon bites his lip, confused. “How else are you going to get to Paris?”

That earns him an amused head tilt. “On my private jet?”

Jihoon blinks at him. “You…you have a private jet?”

Seungcheol gives him a wry smile. “I have two, actually.”

Jihoon blinks at him some more, while thinking, very reasonably, _‘Two? Why does one person need two private jets?’_ He knows better than to say that outright though, because the last time he’d asked Seungcheol why he needed seven cars, Seungcheol had just laughed like it was a fucking rhetorical question.

“Wow.” Jihoon breathes, crumpling the useless flight itinerary he printed out in his hands, “You’ve got two private jets and I’ve never even been on a commercial plane before.”

Seungcheol’s head shoots up. “You can’t be serious.”

Jihoon shrugs affably, “I…guess I never really had the opportunity.”

Seungcheol tips his head back, a crease forming between his eyebrows, “Really? You never thought of taking a year out to travel, or backpacking over those long college summer breaks?”

“I did,” Jihoon replies. “I just—” His mouth slides into a regretful line. “I didn’t have anyone to go with back then, and I was too scared to go alone.”

Seungcheol slouches back in his chair and looks up at him with a thoughtful expression. “I suppose it can be daunting, going it alone. But sometimes the best way to explore a new city is by yourself, under your own steam. And it’s a great confidence builder, travelling by yourself, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

Jihoon thinks that over for a minute; it seems like really good advice.

“Well, maybe next summer. I’ll save up some money and plan a trip.”

Since he’s taking Seungcheol advice, he expects the man to nod and smile—maybe even give him a thumbs up. But for an instant, Seungcheol looks _stricken_. Then he carefully smooths his expression over and waves a hand, almost dismissively. “Yeah—you do that.” He says, before he returns to his laptop and mutters, _“Over my dead body”_ under his breath.

That comment catches Jihoon so off guard it takes a moment to sink in. When it does, Jihoon’s not sure whether to confused or insulted. He settles for an uncomfortable mixture of both. “Uhm, excuse me? Over your dead body? What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Seungcheol, who obviously didn’t mean for Jihoon to _hear_ that comment, tries to cover his look of surprise at being called out by ducking his head behind his computer screen. He's not fast enough, and Jihoon catches the edges of his grimace. 

“I just—” He begins reluctantly, lifting his head again, “I just don’t think it’s wise for you to go travelling by yourself Peanut.”

Jihoon frowns, “But you just said you’d recommend it to any—.”

“That doesn’t include you.” Seungcheol interjects swiftly, flatly. He doesn’t seem the least bit hesitant anymore. “You’re not allowed to travel alone. _Ever_.”

Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut and _holds_ them shut for a few seconds, before slowly opening them, and oh—oh wow, this is a _real_ conversation that they’re having.

“What?”

“Let’s not argue about it, okay.” Seungcheol says, getting to his feet. He rests his palms flat on the table and levels Jihoon a serious look from under his eyebrows. “Just accept my decision.”

Jihoon sputters indignantly. “You—I—what? _Your_ decision? You don’t _get_ to make a decision. You’re not the boss of me.”

Seungcheol lifts a protesting finger, “Uh—I think you’ll find that _I am_.”

“You’re my boss at _work_.” Jihoon points out. “That’s it. You don’t get a say in what I do outside of work. If I want to travel alone, you better believe I will.”

Seungcheol makes a face like basic human rights and freedom of movement are concepts that don’t apply when you work for him. “You weren’t even _interested_ in travelling alone until I mentioned it. Why so eager suddenly?” He huffs, moving around his desk. 

“You’ve warmed me to the idea. Especially since you _forbid_ it all of a sudden. Which—why?” Jihoon jerks his head, irritated. “Why don’t you want me travelling alone?”

Coming to a stop a foot away, Seungcheol sighs heavily, “Cause you’re small, and you're going to get lost—” And before Jihoon can let full indignity of those reasons wash over him, he adds, “And also because I had this dream that you got kidnapped a few weeks ago and it’s opened me up to the realisation that you’re a very kidnappable person.”

And with that, all the fight bleeds out of Jihoon. “Are you serious?”

“ _Yes_.” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, like he’s admitting to something he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t stop himself from blurting out, “It was awful, okay, and I’d rather not experience it in real life. And, yeah, you might argue that’s a slim possibility, but I know what you’re like Peanut, you’re too friendly. If you go trotting around the globe by yourself, you’re going to make friends with everyone you meet and there’s some really awful people out there. Dangerous people. People who take advantage of little peanuts like you, and— _Jesus_ —I can just picture the headlines now: ‘Small Korean Man gets kidnapped on first day of holiday and befriends kidnappers’.”

The fact that Seungcheol manages to say it with a straight face is actually pretty impressive. Or possibly just ridiculous. Jihoon can't decide whether his own expression wants to weigh down with appalled disapproval or brighten with amusement. He compromises by rolling his eyes. 

“That’s actually insane, Seungcheol. You sound like a crazy person. Why would _anyone_ try to kidnap me?”

Seungcheol sighs explosively, like Jihoon’s missing the obvious. “For the ransom money, duh. What else?”

A laugh bubbles out of Jihoon, almost hysterical. “What ransom money? My family’s not rich.”

The idea’s even _funnier_ in his head, because he _says_ ‘family’, when really, it’s always just been him and his mom—and lord knows she couldn’t pay off a ransom demand if he got kidnapped. She’s still holding down a 9-5 job as a high school English teacher, so the best she could do would be to send a nicely worded letter asking: _‘Would you be so kind as to return my son’._ If that fails, she’ll probably just post him out some spare underwear, wishing him the best and ask the kidnappers to remind him to brush his teeth. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know what universe Seungcheol lives in sometimes, but it’s obviously one where everyone is rich and rolls around in big piles of money, waiting to get kidnapped.

“Well of course they wouldn’t expect your family to pay it—” Seungcheol says, throwing his hands in the air. He then gestures at himself, “They’d expect _me_ to.”

“What?” Jihoon flaps his arms in surprise. “Why would _you_ be responsible for paying the ransom money?”

“Because it’s _you_.” Seungcheol snaps.

Jihoon can hear his own breath slice clean through the air in the heavy silence that follows.

He watches in fascination as Seungcheol's gaze goes instantly shuttered as he gathers himself together a moment later, smoothing the already immaculate line of his pants. “And because these kidnappers would be smart, they’d _have_ to be if they’re running an international kidnapping ring. So they would have done their research beforehand and determined how important you are to me, uhm—my _business_.”

“Really? Me?” Jihoon levels him a shrewd look. “But I’m just your PA.”

Seungcheol gives him what Jihoon supposes is meant to be a very long-suffering look. “Oh c’mon, you’re more than _just_ my PA.” He hesitates then, but only briefly, rubbing the back of his neck as he admits, “You’re my _Peanut_. I don’t _have_ any other Peanuts.”

Jihoon is perplexed, but nonetheless overjoyed that he is Seungcheol’s _only_ Peanut. Whatever that means.

“So, does that mean I’m special?”

“Of course.” Seungcheol smirks and leans in, close enough to make Jihoon's breath hitch a little—especially when his voice drops into a more intimate octave, “Besides, if you get kidnapped, who else is gonna make me coffee exactly the way I like it?”

Jihoon wants so badly to roll his eyes, but ends up clapping both hands over his face to stifle his explosion of laughter instead.

Strange, that the same qualities that had always made him angry with Seungcheol from afar—intensity, possessiveness, an overblown sense of importance —could actually be rather endearing up close and personal.

When Jihoon finally lifts his hands from his face, he finds Seungcheol’s eyes are on him—watching him with soft amusement and a hint of something else. The expression gives Jihoon pause.

He suddenly feels like a deer in headlights, caught in between that look and the desk behind him. The feeling only intensifies as Seungcheol raises his hand and his finger floats close to Jihoon's face—and there's a moment when Jihoon’s sure Seungcheol is going to touch him, going stroke the dimple in his cheek gently. But he must think better of it, because he quickly withdraws his hand and shoves it into his pocket. 

“You’ve got the cutest laugh Peanut,” He says, smile turning more pointed at the edges. “You shouldn't try and hide it.”

Jihoon could swear there's more than just idle observation in the words, and his cheeks suddenly feel warm. There's probably some kind of etiquette he should follow here—some rule to tell him if he's reading things right, and what to do about it. As it is, he feels out of his depth, uncertain and curious, and his smile fades awkwardly away.

The enigmatic expression on Seungcheol's face closes off in a blink, replaced by a harmless, open smile. It's like a window of opportunity on its way to slamming shut, and Jihoon can feel disappointment sticking tight in his chest.

He can't let that window finish closing.

“Are you free this Saturday?”

It’s obviously the last thing Seungcheol expected him to say, because Seungcheol tenses, every limb in quickfire lockdown.

“Uh—S-sorry?”

“This weekend. Are you free?” Jihoon repeats, less sure than before. Maybe it's just the humidity in the office, but if he’s not mistaken, Seungcheol’s cheeks look slightly pink too. “Remember you said you’d come for dinner one day, so that I can cook for you all the classic dishes? Please don’t say you’ve changed your mind, I’ve been practicing a lot.”

Seungcheol scrunches up his face like he's working through a long and complicated thought process, when suddenly, like a switch flipping, understanding settles across his face, and his brows rise comically in an expression that leaves Jihoon stifling a laugh.

“Oh, yeah— _dinner_.” he says slowly, like perhaps he’d been thinking something else.

Jihoon’s hands shake as he folds them behind his back. He wishes he can blame it on caffeine withdrawal, but he’s had three coffees in a row.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for ages—it’s just,” He pauses to spare a glance at the daunting stack of papers on his desk. “With the contract proposals and the work you were doing for the bid, I knew you were too busy to consider it. But I thought—if you were free this weekend, you’d come over before you leave for your trip."

“Yeah, sure, I’d love to.” Seungcheol breathes. A wry smile twists up at the corner of his mouth as he adds, “It’s a date.”

A loud throat-clearing noise comes from the other side of the room, and Jihoon and Seungcheol both practically jump out of their skin.

When Jihoon spins around, it’s Jisoo who fills the doorway, looking impatient and disapproving.

“Seungcheol, can I have a word please?”

* * *

Jisoo at least has the decency to wait till Jihoon leaves for lunch, before he launches into his long-coming, well-rehearsed lecture.

“You promised me, Seungcheol, _promised_. You clearly said, and I quote: _‘Jisoo I assure you, it’s completely platonic’_.”

Seungcheol lets out a tired breath because every conversation with Jisoo is an exercise in exhaustion. “And it _is_. It’s just dinner. What’s wrong with accepting a dinner invitation?”

Jisoo points an accusatory finger. “The fact that you would never normally accept a dinner invite is what’s wrong. In fact, I imagine if it was anyone _else_ inviting you to dinner, you would have turned them down. You’ve turned me down plenty of times—and I’ve known you for _years_.”

Seungcheol folds his arms across his chest and opts for a diversionary tactic, “So, that’s what this is about? You’re jealous I don’t accept _your_ dinner invites.”

Jisoo gives him a hard look; this is always the downside to arguing with Jisoo, he knows Seungcheol’s battle strategies too well.

"Don't even _try_ and twist this Seungcheol. We’re not talking about me, we’re discussing you and your PA, and what you _promised_ you wouldn’t do."

Seungcheol shuts his eyes and scrubs a hand down his face wearily. A knock on the door interrupts his efforts to find a subtle way to change the subject, and there's not even time for a quick 'Come in!' before the door is swinging open and Jeonghan comes strolling in.

“Sorry I’m late gentleman, but I prefer not to spend more time with either of you that is strictly necessary.”

Seungcheol scowls at him as he makes himself at home on the corner of his desk, although he'd told Jeonghan time and again he'd rather not have his posterior all over his important papers.

Meanwhile Jisoo breezes on like there isn’t anyone else in the room. “Seungcheol, I’d _really_ like some assurances that you will not be going ahead with your dinner plans. For your own good, if not for the company’s.”

Seungcheol makes a face at the suggestion, but then a truly devious idea occurs to him and he smiles.

He doesn't know the story behind Jeonghan and Jisoo's epic rivalry, but he knows that it somehow involved a pear-shaped potato and a trip to the dentist for both of them. Now Jeonghan doesn't normally hold grudges because he's as easygoing as a prostitute's back entrance, but something about Jisoo, he claims, rubs him the wrong way. Which is why turning them against each other is the perfect distraction. 

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol begins, turning to face his Vice CEO. “Back me up here. Is Jisoo sounding irrational and jealous right now?"

Jeonghan’s busy scanning through his phone, but he’s not one to miss an opportunity for a little verbal whack-a-mole with Jisoo, and immediately replies, “Absolutely.”

“What the—” Jisoo presses his mouth together, not at all pleased. “You just _got_ here Mr Yoon—you don’t even _know_ what we’re talking about.”

Jeonghan’s answering expression is more smirk than smile, rising to Jisoo's challenge without rancour.

“I don’t need to. I could smell your irrational jealousy a mile away.”

Jisoo doesn’t have anything to say to that, he just divides a sour look between then, turns on his heel and storms out of the room.

When the door slams shut behind him, Jeonghan finally pockets his phone and levels Seungcheol a chastising look that reminds him, disturbingly, of his mother. “Well played Choi. But how could you be sure I’d back you up?”

Seungcheol scoffs, “Cause I know that as much as you love pissing me off, you like to piss Jisoo off even more.”

The reprimanding look lasts only a second longer, before Jeonghan’s tilting his head up and smiling fondly at the ceiling. “There _is_ something very appealing about his righteous indignation, don’t you think?”

“Not when it’s aimed at me, there isn’t.” Seungcheol quips, reaching for a bottle of water. He cracks the seal open and manages a few gulps before Jeonghan’s tapping the bottom with his finger.

He’s got that scheming, conniving—( _scheniving_ Seungcheol likes to dub it)—smile on his face now.

“What was Jisoo complaining about anyway?”

Seungcheol caps his water bottle and puts on his best air of indifference. Luckily, he’s had a lot of practice.

“Nothing, really, I just accepted an invitation to dinner from one of the employees and Jisoo thinks it’s ‘ _inappropriate’_.”

“Hmm,” Jeonghan hums, leaning backwards very slightly, palms flat on the desk, elbows locked, his entirely too cunning grin still firmly in place, “I guess it would depend on the _employee_.”

Seungcheol shrugs. He isn't sure he understands the relevance. “Why would that matter?”

“ _Well_ —” Jeonghan hesitates. He seems to be choosing his words with care. “I think you could safely accept a dinner invite from 99.9 percent of your employees and it would be perfectly appropriate. The other point-one percent however….might raise an eyebrow or two.”

“Who would that point-one percent be?” Seungcheol asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jihoon, obviously.” Jeonghan says with a generous laugh.

Seungcheol can feel his jaw clench without his say so. “And _why_ would that be inappropriate?”

Jeonghan leans in close, giving him a frog-eyed look of scrutiny, then an unbearably smug expression spreads over his features.

“It’s Jihoon, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not Jihoon actually,” Seungcheol says, schooling his voice into safe blandness because that's his first instinct always, self-preservation. He takes a sudden interest in his shoes for a few seconds, before saying as blithely as he can manage, “But just out of interest, if I _was_ having dinner with Jihoon, why would that be inappropriate?”

“Oh _please_ ,—” Jeonghan drawls, so insufferably sure of himself. “Even if I didn’t know about that whole staple theft stunt you pulled, or the fact that you have a hundred and one adorable nicknames for him—I’ve _seen_ the effect he has on you. You might have everyone else fooled, but I know you’ve got it bad, Seungcheol. _Real bad_.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to argue that, but no denial or rebuff or cutting remark conveniently comes out.

And how could there be? Despite of all of his professional reservations, there's no denying the effect his Petite PA has on him. Jihoon is warm and gorgeous and perfect. Just walking into the room, Jihoon always loosens the tension in Seungcheol's chest, quiets the noise in his head. He makes it possible to breathe again, if only for a little while, and Seungcheol isn’t prideful and stubborn enough to deny how badly he needs that.

So after a minute of his best glaring, he caves like the proverbial flan in a cupboard.

“Shit, I know.” He admits, falling into his seat and dropping his head into his hands. “I tried to control how I feel, I really did. But he’s just too fucking _precious_. I want to hug him at least a hundred times a day.”

Jeonghan at least sounds sympathetic when he says, “Don’t beat yourself up Seungcheol, he is probably the cutest human being on the planet. I’m honestly surprised people don’t mistake him for a lost kitten and try and take him home.”

Seungcheol makes a distressed noise into his hands because he’s had that thought himself. It was a dream in fact—a horrible _nightmare_ : Jihoon, getting kidnapped by some kitten poachers as he travels to work, and is forced into the kitten trafficking business. His new boss is mean to him and makes him file paperwork all day along, and Jihoon is so miserable he meows himself to sleep every night. And even though Seungcheol rents out all the advertising space available, pays for his picture to printed on the sides of milk cartons and plasters posters all over town that read _‘Have you seen my Peanut?’_ he never sees Jihoon again.

It was the worst nightmare he’s ever had. He woke up screaming in fact.

Never mind that there was no such thing as kitten poachers, or the kitten trafficking business and Jihoon is not _actually_ a kitten, but a grown man—Seungcheol still couldn’t sleep again that night.

That’s how bad it’s gotten. He’s losing what little sleep he gets worrying that someone will kidnap his PA.

His mind veers sideways, away from those imagined horrors and into reality he _can_ control.

As much as he hates the idea, he’ll just have to apologise to Jihoon and come up with a plausible reason for cancelling. It shouldn’t be too hard to come up with something convincing—some phantom business meeting or charity event or some other last-minute mysterious engagement he just can’t get out of and Jihoon will remain none the wiser. It’s for the best really. 

Letting out a tired breath, Seungcheol grumbles, “I guess I have to cancel.”

Jeonghan looks appalled, “No, no—absolutely not.” He immediately waves off the possibility. “You’ll break his little heart. He’ll be devastated.”

“But—”

Jeonghan holds up a hand as if to demolish any rejoinder he could come up with, “Just go—have dinner with him. Who cares if it’s inappropriate? Only you and I know why, and you know I won’t say anything.” He pats Seungcheol’s hand in an alarming parody of reassurance, “Besides, it will make Jihoon so happy. And if you’re going to make one person happy in your whole miserable life, it should be the person who thinks the best of you.”

Seungcheol is aware of the pouted curl of his lip, but doesn't feel a particular need to overcome it.

“His housemate will be there too, just so you know, so it’s not like we’ll—” He trails off, not entirely sure what he was aiming to say.

“—End up in bed together?” Jeonghan supplies, eyebrow arching high on his forehead.

The shock of the suggestion makes Seungcheol choke on his next lungful of air, and then his whole face flushes up, a tendon jumping in his throat. It doesn’t help to realize that Jeonghan isn’t being deliberately provocative, he’s just saying it how he sees it, coming to the most obvious conclusion. But Seungcheol hadn’t even _thought_ of the night ending that way—hadn’t even considered being intimate with Jihoon was an option.

Now though, Jeonghan’s put the possibility in his head and…..

_Oh fuck._

Seungcheol does the only thing he can, he shakes his head emphatically. _Deny, deny, deny!_

“That’s—that’s _never_ going to happen. It can’t. Ever. He’s—I’m not attracted to him like that.”

Jeonghan’s snort is both ironic and amused, recognizing that for the lie it is. 

“You know what Seungcheol,” he muses, sounding disconcertingly casual, as if he’s about to remark on the weather. “Even if I believed your reason, I can’t argue with your decision, because the fact of the matter is—workplace relationships _are_ a fundamentally bad idea. There are thousands of people living in Seoul, much more if you count commuters. Why pick the one that'll drag your job down with it once you break up?"

Seungcheol lets that thought settle over him and goes bitter under his tongue.

* * *

Jihoon approaches the question of what dishes to serve Seungcheol with the same rigor Pharmaceutical companies put into research and development. He draws up a list of possible entrees, mains and sides; creates a matrix of pros and cons of each and comes up with a predictive algorithm to determine which combination is most likely to please his boss.

It’s revolutionary work, if he says so himself, and by Friday he has selected three ‘perfect’ dishes that Seungcheol will surely love.

Somehow, despite all that, he still ends up making four trips to the grocery store and second-guessing himself. Multiple times.

Eventually, after an attempted 5th grocery trip and 4th menu re-design, Seokmin makes an executive decision and selects the dishes for him. A pork Bulgogi, Yukgaejang and Patbingsu. And as if he wasn’t stretched thin enough, Jihoon decides he’ll also make his grandmother’s famous Gyeran Mari as a side.

By Saturday morning, all the ingredients have been purchased and prepped and the apartment has been scrubbed clean from top to bottom, leaving Jihoon to focus on other important things.

 _Very_ important things—like how to fold his napkins 😊

“I’m torn on which fold is best.” Jihoon scrolls down his Pinterest page, forehead creased in concentration. “Should I go for a basic fan fold, or a pretty double star fold, or should I go for something a little more complicated and _fancy_ , like a lotus flower fold? What do you think, Seokmin?”

Seokmin’s spoonful of Fruit Loops stops mid-air. “I think you’re overdoing it on the table arrangements Hoonie.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose, but he isn’t one to be put off so easily.

“No, I’m not. We _need_ to have napkins on the table.”

Seokmin sighs and lets his spoon drop into his bowl with a splash, “Okay, _fine_ , napkins are important—but what about the centre-piece and the placeholders and candles you’ve been obsessing over? Can we at least agree that’s overkill? It’s just dinner, it doesn’t have to be so.....fancy.”

Jihoon lowers his gaze to the table, deflated. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“And I’m sure it will be,” Seokmin sighs, reaching for his orange juice. “But maybe just focus on making sure the _food_ is good and worry less about the presentation. When the food is awesome, people tend to overlook all those silly little details.”

Jihoon pouts because the ‘silly little details’ are his favourite part of having someone over for dinner. It makes him sad to think he’s spent all those lunch hours watching YouTube tutorials and practicing different folds only for Seungcheol to miss the cutely shaped napkin on his plate.

He’s even been practicing his calligraphy, so the **S** on Seungcheol’s placeholder could be extra _swirly_.

“I still can’t believe you invited your boss to dinner.” Seokmin interrupts his morose thoughts, picking up his spoon again.

Jihoon can’t help but cheer up a little at the thought; he can hardly believe it himself.

“I can’t believe he _accepted_. I always thought he’d make up some excuse when I finally built the courage to ask him. That’s why this dinner has to be perfect. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to impress him with my culinary abilities.”

“And you’re sure you want me there?” Seokmin mumbles around a mouthful of cereal. “There’s still time for me to make an excuse to be away.”

Jihoon reaches out to clasp his hand, “Of course I want you here, I need the moral support. I get really shy around him sometimes and clam up, and you’re always great at breaking tension and holding interesting conversations.”

“I _am_?” Seokmin swallows. He looks down at his glass of orange juice in bewilderment. “But I don’t know much about the corporate world. I wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation about finance, or construction or…whatever it is your company does.” He meets Jihoon’s gaze. “Which you still haven’t told me by the way.”

“We’re an engineering company. We build stuff.” Jihoon announces confidently, though it wavers a second later. “But don’t quote me on that. _Wait_ —you don’t actually think Seungcheol will _want_ to talk about work, do you?”

Seokmin squints at him, like he’s stupid. “Uh—yeah. He’s your boss, your work is your primary connection. What _else_ would you talk about?”

Jihoon shrugs, “Fun stuff. Like his interests and hobbies, stuff he does in his spare time, or if he has someone special in his life. I want to get to know what he’s like _away_ from work.”

Seokmin lifts a bemused eyebrow. “Sounds to me like you’re planning a date.”

Jihoon really has no answer for that except _‘Oh my god, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing! What the hell is wrong with me’—_ so he just stares at Seokmin until a puzzled line appears between his flatmate’s eyebrows and he slowly leans back in his chair.

“Jihoon—” Seokmin begins. His expression mobile, as if many things are running through his head. Then he stiffens in his seat and his face lights with comprehension. “—Are you trying to _hit_ on your boss?” 

Jihoon feels the slow heat of blood creeping into his face. “What, no—don’t be silly."

Seokmin’s mouth falls open in a parody of shock, “Oh my god—you’re blushing.”

Jihoon shakes his head, frantically, “No, I’m not. I—”

“You-have-the-hots-for-your-boss.” Seokmin says, with what Jihoon thinks is an unnecessary amount of pointing.

Puffing out an explosive breath, Jihoon pushes the Fruit Loops box between them so he doesn’t have to endure Seokmin’s stupid smug face while he ticks off his ‘To-do’ list. But he barely picks up his pen before Seokmin’s shoving the box aside and leaning over the table.

“Okay, okay, I’m _sorry_. But listen Jihoon, seriously—don’t you think he’s a little…. _old_ for you?”

“He’s only 39.” Jihoon says incredulously. Then immediately realises that this is the WRONG ANSWER to that question! “And I’m not trying to date him anyway.” He adds quickly, but he suspects the second answer is not enough to cancel out the first.

Seokmin doesn't look at all convinced, but he doesn't say anything else. He just smirks and goes back to his breakfast.

Jihoon's unspent arguments die unspoken, and he turns back to his neatly outlined ‘To Do’ list. He scratches out _‘Centre piece’_ and _‘scented candles’_ and _‘placeholders’_ because Seokmin is right, it’s just dinner and that’s overkill—but he ticks the _‘Pretty napkins’_ box because they’re going to need napkins anyway, and they might as well be pretty.

He works his way down the rest of the list, until he reaches ‘ _Outfit’_ and turns to Seokmin once more.

“What do you think I should _wear_?”

Seokmin, who’s in the middle of slurping up all his cereal milk, sets his bowl down before saying, “I think you should meet him at the door in a thong and nothing else. That way you can cut straight to the chase for why you _really_ invited him.”

Jihoon scowls and flicks a Fruit-Loop at his head.

Needless to say, Jihoon will not be wearing a thong—and not because he doesn’t have one. 😉 But because thongs are very uncomfortable. ☹

* * *

The night before he’s due to have dinner at Jihoon’s is, to put it mildly, the most terrifying countdown of Seungcheol’s life. He has trouble remembering why he thought this was a good idea, because it’s been so long since he’s eaten anywhere that’s not his home, office or a restaurant, that he hardly knows how he’ll react to something as simple as a nice home cooked meal.

 _You can do this. Relax. Just don’t be an asshole—_ is the pep talk he gives himself in the mirror. Which is all good and well, if you’re not a well known uptight categoric asshole.

Home cooking and casual banter at the dinner table have become somewhat of an alien concept to him, along with all the little pieces of life that seem so much more reasonable to do when another person is around. And it’s been _years_ since anyone’s been around. Left on his own, Seungcheol would eat a bag of Doritos for dinner, stare at the news without taking it in and not bother with clothes half the time.

Which brings him to his next problem. What the fuck is he going to _wear_?

He hasn’t been seen out of a suit in a year and a half, except when sleeping and going to the gym, but he really doesn’t want to show up in one tomorrow. It wouldn’t feel right. It would be too _formal_ , restrictive, and that’s not how he wants Jihoon to feel around him.

So with a suit out of the question, Seungcheol raids through his closet like a madman, dodging hideous prints and patterns he wouldn’t be caught dead in but somehow was convinced to buy, shirts that make him look tubby the second he eats so much as a breath mint, and one giant-ass spider, until he pulls out everything that could be considered appropriate casual wear and piles it on his bed.

He spends the first hour trying on a few combinations, and immediately feels like a try-hard idiot in every single one of them. Except for the checkered shirt and the cardigan with the elbow patches combo, that makes him feel like a try-hard substitute Geography teacher. Then he spends a second hour lying on the bed in his boxers, wondering where the hell he even _got_ a cardigan with elbow patches.

Jesus—at this rate he may as well show up naked and tell Jihoon he was mugged on the way. He would probably receive a warmer welcome than try-hard Geography teacher Seungcheol would.

The third hour is spent scrolling through his contacts list, debating on who he should call for…. _eugh_ ….just thinking it makes him feel especially pathetic, but _yeah_ , there’s no denying it. He needs fashion advice.

It’s rare that Seungcheol needs advice of a personal nature. He does his best to merge so completely with his work that nothing else exists. But when the other arenas of life refuse to be beaten back with a whip and a chair, there really is only one person he turns to.

His ex-wife.

Which, okay—on the face of it, seems like the worst person to call when you’re having a self-identity crisis and need some moral support and fashion advice, but Janna’s his oldest friend. Most marriages that end in high-profile divorces and heavy settlements can get really… _ugly_. But not theirs. There just came a point in time where they said _‘Hey—this isn’t working out’_ and no amount of couples therapy would make it _better_ , and they decided to go their separate ways. There was a brief court appearance where the signed a few documents; a few lawyers were involved to iron out the financial aspects, but that’s all there was to it. It was simple. Amicable. They even had dinner together afterwards to celebrate and toasted each other, because it didn’t have to be ugly. Just because you stop loving someone that _way_ —doesn’t mean you stop loving them all together.

So calling Janna seems like the perfectly reasonable solution, until the phone starts ringing and it occurs to him that he hasn’t actually called her in well over a month. She’ll be suspicious that he’s calling and asking for advice out of the blue—suspicious enough she’ll ask _why_?

Before he can swipe to end the call though, she answers, and says without preamble, “If you’re calling to apologise for missing my birthday, don’t bother. Words mean nothing to me—I want a gift.”

This surprises a laugh out of Seungcheol. “Nice try Janna, I know your birthday is in January. It’s one of the few dates I remember actually, because it’s nice and easy—the first three letters of your name. I may have been hopeless at remembering dinner reservations, our 2nd _and_ 3rd anniversary and your father’s funeral that one time—but you can never accuse me of forgetting your birthday.”

There is a significant pause. Then: “You should buy me a gift anyway. For being a shitty ex-husband.”

Seungcheol guffaws, “Ex-wife’s aren’t _entitled_ to gifts.” 

“They are if you never call them unless you _need_ something.” Janna quips, without any real humour.

That does make Seungcheol feel a tad guilty, but he doesn’t let on. “I’ve been busy. Some of us have jobs you know, _responsibilities_ —we can’t all live off alimony payments. Also, most guys wouldn’t even _call_ their ex-wives at all. In fact, they’d avoid contact with them at all costs.”

He doesn't have to see Janna to know she’s rolling her eyes at him. “And yet— _here you are.”_

Seungcheol sighs, “Yeah, well, I need some advice.”

As expected, this catches her interest. “ _Ooh_.”

“Fashion advice.” He cuts to the chase and Janna’s tone turns decidedly underwhelmed.

“Oh. Let me guess—another boring business function with boring old farts?”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, “A dinner _actually_ , and I’ll be the oldest fart there, so I don’t think I should wear a suit. I’m trying to come across less…yanno….formal.”

“Hold on a sec, is this a _date_?” Janna’s voice sharpens with suspicion.

Seungcheol doesn’t blink; nor does he choke, sputter, or blush. Good breeding and years of practice have moved him beyond such reactions to peoples generalized stupidity. Besides which, Janna thrives on getting a rise out of others, the best thing to do is to appear unphased.

“ _No_. It’s just a dinner with a…a work associate.”

“A dinner date then, with your work wife. How _cute_.” Janna says in a vaguely accusatory way.

Seungcheol’s face turns hot; nothing but mild irritation. “It’s _not_ a date. I’ve just been invited to dinner at someone’s home, and I’m _trying_ to show a different side to myself. I’m _trying_ to come across less rigid and more approachable, and I’m afraid a suit will ruin that.”

He might as well be conversing with a brick wall, because Janna just ignores everything he says.

“Oh my god, it’s a date! Who are you dating? And how could you keep this from me?”

“I’m not dating anyone.” Seungcheol insists, ears burning. “It’s just _dinner_.”

Janna snorts in his ear, “But you’re clearly fretting about it, and that’s not normal for you. Usually you’d never second guess your fashion choices and suit up—so that tells me you’re making an effort to impress someone. Someone you _like_.”

Remaining unphased is a lost cause now. Seungcheol can feel himself turning red like an infatuated adolescent. All he’s missing are the pimples and the split-second refractory period.

“Can you help or not?” He snaps. He knows full well getting snappy is his least effective defence, but Janna seems mollified by it for a moment.

“Go for a light cashmere jumper, in a dark colour. You must have a few lying about, and it would be perfect for you—simple, but yet, luxurious and flattering. You need to highlight your best features, and that’s definitely your shoulders and arms. Oh, and your _ass_. Don’t forget about your ass, your ass is superb and needs to be on show. Oh, and your _thighs_ , your thighs are amazing—Aw, I miss dressing you up. You were like my big beefy Ken-doll. Okay, so—definitely tight fitting dark wash jeans, or if you don’t fit into your jeans anymore— _no_ , don’t be angry, I know you’ve been trying to stick to your diet, I’m just talking in hypotheticals—go for some snug fitting pants, no pleats. And then to finish it all off, you know that buttery leather jacket that everyone said made you look like a biker thug? Well they’re wrong, it was perfect for you.”

Seungcheol cradles the phone in the crook of his ear as he wiggles into each item of clothing, examines his reflection in the mirror and determines—yeah, that’ll do just fine.

“Nice. I think that will work. Thanks babe.”

Janna sighs wistfully across the line.

“You know Cheollie—what you wear doesn’t really matter as long as you pay proper attention to your… _work associate_. It’s more important that you show them that you’re _listening_ and _interested_ , than impress them with your style.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes because it wouldn’t be a conversation with Janna unless she’s making a dig about their relationship. She’s not the only one, to be fair. People in the past have accused him of being socially obtuse, but this is hardly true. Seungcheol is fully aware of social conventions and the way people tend to work, the patterns their thoughts and emotions tend to take. He's not ignorant, okay. He can read people perfectly well. He just chooses not to most of the time, because reading people requires attention and most people aren't interesting enough to warrant it.

Jihoon on the other hand….

“Don’t worry Janna, I’m very invested in this person.”

The line crackles sharply as Janna practically _squeals_ into his ear, turning him half deaf.

“Aw C’mon! You can’t just say stuff like that and not tell me who it is. Is it someone I _know_? Have I met them at one of those business shindigs you drag me too? Oh god, please tell me it’s not that super controlling dullard HR guy you introduced me to at the Art Gala. Sure, he was handsome enough, and he’s clearly been holding a torch for you for _years_ —but I don’t think he’s right for you Cheollie.”

“I am _not_ dating Jisoo.” Seungcheol huffs, offended. “Though you’re right about him being super controlling. He’s been trying to get me to cancel this dinner all week cause he thinks it’s _inappropriate_.”

 _“Does he now?”_ Janna drawls over the line in a way that suggests she’s probably steepling her fingers menacingly too. Seungcheol can practically hear the warning bells a mile away, especially when Janna clears her throat and suggests fat too sweetly, “Hey listen—we should have drinks next week. It’s been too long, and we need a nice little catch up.”

He knows Janna well enough to know there would be nothing ‘nice’ about their ‘catch-up’—she is going to corner him in a bar, ply him with drinks and drive him crazy until he spills everything.

“I can’t, I’ll be in Paris on Monday. For business.”

“I’ll come with you!” Janna’s voice rises an octave in glee, making her sound like a hyena. “You know I love Paris. You can do your boring business shit, and I’ll go shopping and get you some new suits. Just like old times.”

Seungcheol winces. “Not this time Janna. This meeting is really important, and I’m not going alone. I’m taking my PA with me, and I need to—”

“You have a PA?” Janna interrupts incredulously. “Since when do you have a PA?”

Seungcheol shrugs where she can’t see him, “I dunno, about three and a half months?”

“Three and a half months?” Janna echoes, “I can’t believe there’s actually someone out there who can tolerate you for that long.”

Seungcheol lets out a startled laugh. “Hey—you tolerated me for four years.”

Janna's laughter is muffled over the phone, like she’s covering her mouth. 

“I was _sleeping_ with you too. Your performance in bed really compensates for your inadequacies elsewhere. So, unless you’re fucking your PA, then I’m impressed they can tolerate….…” She cuts off suddenly, gasping. Then stage whispers into the phone _, “Oh my god… are you fucking your PA?”_

Moral support or no, Seungcheol immediately regrets calling her. Having other people up in his private business is pretty much his vision of hell.

“I gotta go Janna. I’ve still got to pack for this trip—”

“Oh my god! Is that who you’re having dinner with?” Janna pterodactyl yells through the line at him.

Seungcheol holds the phone a safe distance away from his ear as he yells back, “Bye Janna, take care. Talk soon.”

She’s still trying to interrogate him, yelling threats of, “Don’t you dare hang up on me!" as he does just that.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Seungcheol spends three hours picking out a bottle of wine—trying to find the perfect one, not so extravagant that it makes them uncomfortable, not too cheap that it insults them, or is wine even the right thing to bring? He’s nervous. God. When was the last time he was nervous?

It grows worse as dinnertime approaches, as he’s taking the car from the garage and syncing his I-Pod and driving far too fast across the city, trying to burn off some of his edginess. When he arrives at the address Jihoon gave him, which is quite a distance away from work (Jesus, does he commute this every day?), he knocks and waits, with real dread.

The man who answers the door is tall and slim, with dark messy hair and pointed features, and his eyes go wide as he takes Seungcheol in.

“ _W o a h_.” He breathes, mouth going slack.

When it becomes apparent he isn’t going to say anything else, Seungcheol attempts to introduce himself.

“Hello, I’m Seungcheol? I’m Jihoon’s boss? He invited me for dinner?”

He doesn’t know why made every part of that sentence sound like a question, but it’s really hard to sound certain of himself when the guy keeps staring at him in slack-jawed disbelief.

Perhaps this isn’t the right address? Has he taken a wrong turn somewhere?

“Sorry, I _think_ I might have the wrong place.” Seungcheol says, stepping away from the door warily. 

He starts fishing in his pocket for his cell, when the man reaches out and claps a hand around his forearm to stop him.

Now Seungcheol’s not _usually_ a violent person (no seriously, he’s not), but he’s not above punching weirdos who manhandle him in the throat. So he pulls his arm back and clenches a fist to do just that, until the guy jolts backwards, hands raised placatingly.

“Woah dude, relax. I was just gonna say you are in the right place. I’m Seokmin—Jihoon’s flatmate.”

Seungcheol doesn’t lower his fist, not yet. “Oh yeah? Where’s Peanut?”

The man’s eyes narrow, “Peanut?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to explain, when he hears a voice call out, “I’m here!” and turns to see Jihoon bounding down the corridor towards them.

He’s wearing the biggest smile on his face, as well as an adorable little Chef's hat and an apron that says ‘Kiss the cook’ and Seungcheol takes a moment to wonder if it would be wrong to do just that because he honestly can’t remember anyone _ever_ being _this_ happy to see him.

Not even his own parents.

“You made it!” Jihoon declares, clasping his hands together, his saucer-big blue eyes focused determinedly on Seungcheol as he stares up at him.

Seungcheol opens his mouth to answer, only for Jihoon to steamroll right over him with his usual enthusiastic verbal onslaught.

“Did you find your way here okay? Wait, what am I saying, of course you did, you’re here! Please, come in. Here, let me take your jacket. Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of a suit before, it’s weird. A good weird though, I mean—you look great. Oh, is that bottle of wine for me? Aw, you shouldn’t have brought anything, but thank you—you’re so sweet. I see you’ve already met Seokmin, my housemate. I hope he hasn’t been talking your ear off, he can be such a chatterbox. C’mon now, don’t just stand there, come inside, Seokmin can get you a drink while I finish up in the kitchen. Food's almost ready. I hope you’re hungry, I’ve made you lots of yummy dishes. Oh my god! I’m so happy you came!” He finishes, scurrying back down the corridor again before Seungcheol can get a word in.

When he’s out of sight, Seokmin shoots Seungcheol a look of apology. He seems to have recovered from that verbal onslaught a tad quicker, and still possesses the wherewithal to hang Seungcheol’s jacket up while Seungcheol stares dumbly at the space Jihoon occupied moments ago.

“As you can plainly see, Jihoon’s very excited that you’re here.”

Seungcheol smiles in what he hopes is a pleasant fashion. He can’t really feel his face. “You say that like he’s not this excitable _all_ the time.”

“Touché.” Seokmin laughs, leading the way down the corridor.

The living room he directs Seungcheol into is very small but well organised and neat, which Seungcheol had expected. But it’s also surprisingly…. _plain:_ sparsely furnished in modern greys and creams with clean lines and simple pieces straight out of an Ikea Catalogue. Which is just wrong, _wrong_ , so wrong he doesn't even know how to quantify its wrongness.

Jihoon’s apartment is not meant to look like this at _all_.

Seungcheol suspects Seokmin may have been responsible for the décor of the living areas, because he’s sure if Jihoon had his way, the space would be a lot more _eclectic_. And maybe it was wrong to pigeonhole Jihoon’s style as _twee_ , but when he’d imagined what Jihoon’s home would look like, he’d honestly pictured a small cottage in the woods. A space with a one of those well-loved couches you _sink_ into, with an excessive number of scatter cushions in pastel colours; flowering plants in every corner, and cutesy figurines on all the surfaces and fairy lights goddamn everywhere. There’d be books piled artistically on the coffee table and inspiring quotes framed on the wall and a dozen puppies. And _yeah_ , he’s definitely pigeonholing Jihoon’s style as twee here, but there’s nothing remotely Jihoon-ish about the room and that’s really disappointing.

That is, until he sets eyes on the furry blanket folded neatly over the arm of the couch and is overcome with a rush of fondness.

That’s Jihoon’s alright—there’s no mistaking it.

It’s a soft lavender colour, dotted with little white rabbits—and God, Seungcheol could cry just picturing it: _Little Jihoon, getting sleepy in front of the little television, pulling the little blanket up around his little shoulders so he can have a little nap…._

Alright. That’s enough of that.

Jesus, what’s _wrong_ with him?

“Can I get you a drink?” A voice calls out, and Seungcheol twists to find Jihoon hovering in the doorway. He’s shed his apron, and his little chef’s hat, but he’s looking no less adorable in his pale blue button down and……no sweater vest in sight?

_What in tarnation is going on?_

“We’ve got a really lovely full-bodied Tempranillo if you prefer red, and a Zinfandel that would pair quite nicely with the meal. But if you prefer white, I’ve just picked up a bottle of Vermentino that—” Seokmin starts rattling off about wine parings then, but Seungcheol’s still coming to terms with the sight of Jihoon without a sweater vest, that he doesn’t really take any of it in.

Frankly he doesn’t care what he drinks, so when Seokmin stops waxing on about wine, he just shrugs, “Whatever _you_ guys are having is fine.”

Seokmin makes a face like he knows Seungcheol had zoned out during his “Wine 101” speech and says, “Well, I’m having the Vinho Verde, which I would _strongly_ recommend. Unless you’d like what Jihoon’s having………. sparkly apple juice.”

Seungcheol tries to appear unphased by that little revelation, but he can feel his face cracking into a smile despite his efforts.

“I’m sorry, did you say…Sparkly apple juice?”

Jihoon straightens up to his full height and puffs his chest out—which still makes him the shortest and cutest person in the room. “Yeah, that’s right, sparkly apple juice. It’s a drink I invented myself, because I don’t like wine, okay. I don’t like the taste of it.” He huffs, in that way that suggests this isn’t the first time he’s had to defend his beverage choices.

“Me neither. Guess I’ll be having some Sparkly apple juice too.” Seungcheol says, and then he wants to hit himself because that’s a pretty stupid thing to say when he bought a bottle of wine as a gift, but whatever, because what that little lie does to Jihoon's face is _startling_.

It lights up with a bright dazzling smile; hard to look at and irresistible.

“Really? You’ll drink sparkly apple juice with me?” Jihoon whispers, eyes shimmering. 

Seungcheol smiles warmly at the pulse of affection that fills his chest, and wonders when he became so fucking vulnerable. When his rough tough exterior had split open and spilled out this soft, wretched, pitiable man that survived on smiles, and dimples, and Jihoon looking at him like he’s made his fucking day by agreeing to drink Sparkly apple juice with him. 

“Yes please.” He clears his throat. “If you don’t mind sharing, that is.”

“Of course, I don’t mind!” Jihoon gasps, rushing out of the room.

After he leaves, Seokmin fixes Seungcheol with a look of deeply amused disbelief as he uncorks a bottle of wine. “He was right about you—you _are_ a charmer.”

Seungcheol smirks and takes a seat on the couch. Apart from Jihoon, he doesn’t think anyone has ever considered him charming before and he’s never truly given a shit either. But something about what Jeonghan said has resonated with him—if he’s going to make one person in his whole life happy, it should be the one person who thinks the best of him.

As it turns out, it’s not such a bad life philosophy to adopt. The sparkly apple juice, when it arrives, is served with the usual Jihoon-ian flourish: in a tall stem glass with a slice of apple cut into a star shape resting on the rim.

And _boy_ is it sparkly.

Seungcheol was a fool to think that ‘sparkly’ had anything to do with the addition pf sparkling water, because although the drink _is_ lightly carbonated, it actually has glitter in it too. Hopefully it’s edible fucking glitter, because Jihoon’s packed a whole LGBQT pride parade’s worth in that single glass.

Seungcheol can practically feel himself getting gayer just holding it.

Jihoon waits until Seungcheol takes his first sip and gives him an approving thumbs up, before scurrying back into the kitchen to check on the food.

Despite lacking in most of the usual social graces, Seungcheol manages to engage Seokmin in the first non-work-based chat he’s had in months. To begin with, the conversation is polite, not quite stilted: Seokmin tells him a little about his job as a Sous Chef, which interests Seungcheol not one bit, but he makes sure to nod along in all the appropriate places. Then as they cycle through the usual small-talk fare—weather, politics, sports—they really hit it off. Seungcheol honestly hadn’t expected to find common ground with anyone who wasn’t his age—but talking to Seokmin is surprisingly refreshing.

It makes him think that maybe he isn’t so out-of-touch with his youth after all. Maybe he just needs to get out more, adopt a smile instead of a scowl, yell less.

On second thought—that sounds like a lot of hard work.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I can’t help but notice that you’re not really old.” Seokmin observes at one point, as he’s refreshing their drinks.

The statement catches Seungcheol off guard—so much so he jerks backwards in surprise. Snapping out of it, he frowns pointedly. “Did Jihoon _say_ I was?”

Seokmin lips twitch in amusement, “ _No_ , I just—I expected you would need a handful of decades under your belt before you could become the CEO of a renowned company. But Jihoon tells me you’re only 39. It’s pretty impressive you’ve gotten so far in your career at such a young age.”

“Oh, well—” Seungcheol manages his best self-effacing laugh. “My father owned the company actually, built it up from the ground. So when he decided to retire early after a few health scares, I was apparently the _obvious_ choice to replace him. So, it’s not that impressive really, just good old-fashioned Nepotism. I doubt I would have secured the position on my own merits.”

He expects Seokmin to agree and brush it off, but instead he regards Seungcheol with solemn eyes for a moment, then shakes his head minutely.

“I don’t know if that’s necessarily true—I mean, yes, you’ve been afforded an advantage most people don’t get, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have gotten the job eventually. Besides, Jihoon says you’re really amazing at your job. That nobody can do what you do.”

A lump has formed in Seungcheol’s throat, and he isn’t entirely sure why. He swallows it down, glances at the glass in his hand, and frowns. 

“Jihoon said that?”

Seokmin breaks into a smile. A more genuine one this time, “Yeah, he’s always talking about how hard you work, and how you’re such a ‘great boss’. And yeah, I know what you’re going to say, Jihoon’s a terrible judge of character he’s _always_ got something nice to say about everyone, but it’s rare that he really admires someone the way he admires you. That says something.”

And there is that lump again, a chokehold of emotion. It’s too big to swallow down this time, so Seungcheol takes another sip of his sparkly apple juice before diverting the conversation.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how _do_ Jihoon and you know each other if you didn’t go to college together?”

Seokmin barks out a laugh, like he gets the question all the time. “Oh, well, we met at the bus-stop actually. I had just broken up with my boyfriend of the time, and was sulking with a box of my stuff, waiting to catch the next bus home. Then Jihoon comes by, sits next to me and offers to share his carrot sticks with me because ‘I looked sad’. I just so happened to like carrots and we hit it off. That was four years ago, and we’ve been together for three.”

Seungcheol can _feel_ the moment when his face drops.

He tries to stop himself from asking, “You guys are _dating_?” but it just comes tumbling out.

“What? No—no!” Seokmin laughs hugely, like that’s the funniest shit he’s heard. “What I meant was—we’ve been _living_ together for three years. But we’re just friends. Best friends. Although we probably do act like an old married couple sometimes, we’re not exactly each other’s types. I’m too busy with my career to invest fully in a relationship and Jihoon is still searching for his ‘Mr Darcy’.

Seungcheol chuckles—not out of any real mirth, but more out of _sheer fucking relief_ , “So Jihoon’s never had a boyfriend then?” He tries to sound casual, just making conversation, like people do, people who aren’t heavily invested in the answer.

Seokmin looks uncomfortable for all of half a second, then gleefully proceeds to spill the beans.

“He did—a few years back when he was just starting college, but the guy wasn’t a very nice person. That’s why Jihoon moved in with me actually, cause that jerk—” He pauses, to glance over his shoulder, then lowers his voice as his face turns dour. “Let’s just say he made Jihoon very unhappy.”

Seungcheol’s skin suddenly feels like it's buzzing with the hum of a low-grade electric fence. It's not anger, not quite, but it's an uncomfortable feeling nonetheless, and he's grinding his back teeth together before he even knows what he's doing. 

It’s not his business, it’s not his right to ask anything else, but he has to wonder about it, because Jihoon is the easiest guy in the _world_ to keep happy; he can sit working quite happily in his little corner, for hours, like a particularly low-maintenance cat, lights up in genuine delight at the smallest things: birds landing outside the office window, a smiley face in the clouds, or Seungcheol commending his coffee making skills, little stuff, barely worth mentioning. So for someone to make him _unhappy_ —they must have seriously been going out of their way.

Maybe it was bedroom stuff that made him unhappy, and that’s— _Jesus_ , Seungcheol thinks, _stop_.

For a moment, Seokmin looks as if he might elaborate further, but then he seems to think better of it when Jihoon appears in the doorway and claps his hands together, “Dinner’s ready!”

* * *

There’s a small yellow [rabbit](https://img-s3.onedio.com/id-58283075a0371c3f65188e63/rev-0/w-635/f-jpg-webp/s-f57264b50cb3a15feaaa5a5593efe8c4b28b025d.webp) on Seungcheol plate that he doesn’t know what to do with. He considers moving it off the plate, but he’s afraid it’ll unfold in his hand, so he just stares at it until Jihoon announces, “It’s a napkin.”

“I know, I just—” Seungcheol waves a hesitant hand over his plate. “It looks so nice I don’t want to disturb it.”

“See, I _told_ you he would like my pretty napkins.” Jihoon huffs in Seokmin’s direction, then turns back towards Seungcheol to add, “I had a placeholder for you and everything, but Seokmin said it was silly to have placeholders when the table was only set for three people.”

“It _is_ silly,” Seokmin says, rolling his eyes, and Jihoon glares at him, which is a new development.

Seungcheol’s never seen Jihoon glare at anyone before, but apparently stifling his creativity how you earn his adorable wrath.

“Could you direct me to the bathroom?” Seungcheol interrupts the tense staring match to ask, “I just need to wash up first.”

“Oh, it’s just down the corridor, second door on the right.” Jihoon chirps, quickly returning to his usual pleasant self. 

Seungcheol’s half-way down the corridor when Seokmin calls out, “Just so you know he’s folded the towels into little rabbits too!” and the hears Jihoon snap back at him, “Seokmin, shut up.”

Seungcheol laughs and shakes his head, and pushes the bathroom door open, only to find that he’s somehow, magically, been transported to a Build-A-Bear workshop.

Or, he surmises a second later—Jihoon’s bedroom.

_What the fuck….._

It isn't often that Seungcheol is struck practically speechless. But right here and now—there are no words to explain what he’s seeing. Possibly because there’s a kaleidoscope of colour fucking with his vision, because Jihoon’s bedroom is….just… _wow_.

There’s everything you would expect to find in a young man’s bedroom: A wardrobe, a dresser, a desk and chair, a full-length mirror in the corner and a few shelves with a few colourful knick-knacks Jihoon would like. But then there’s also a queen-sized bed, with approximately _one billion_ stuffed toys stacked on top.

Okay—maybe a billion is a bit of an exaggeration. But there’s easily a hundred plushies on the bed, arranged neatly in size order—largest at the back, to the very smallest nestled in at the top. There’s so many Seungcheol can’t even make out the pattern of the bedspread underneath—if there even is one. For all he knows, it might just be another giant plushie.

 _Jesus_ —he thinks— _it must take Jihoon like 45 minutes to make his bed every morning._

“Sorry I gave you the wrong directions,” Jihoon’s harried voice suddenly interrupts his thoughts. Seungcheol turns to face him, eyebrows high in unspoken inquiry, as he adds, “The bathroom’s actually the third door to the _right_. Second door is—"

“Your bedroom?” Seungcheol ventures. 

Jihoon's eyes go surprised and soft. “Yeah. How did you know?”

Seungcheol can't help laughing.

“Seriously Jihoon? Who _else’s_ bedroom could this possibly be?” He says, throwing a hand out to encompass the room; the bedful of plushies and the cutesy collectibles, the massive Disney DVD collection and the strings upon strings of fairy lights. He could be wrong of course, because there isn’t a single sweater vest in sight—but there _is_ a large wardrobe against the wall that appears to be held shut by the desk chair, and Seungcheol’s willing to bet if he moved that chair—a literal Tsunami of Sweater vests would come pouring out.

He’d bet his _life_ on it.

“No, this—this is _exactly_ how I pictured your room to look like.” He says, edging a safe distance away from the wardrobe to survey the room, “I was surprised to find the rest of your apartment so subdued, but now I know why. You keep all your stuff in your room.”

Jihoon shrugs sheepishly, “Seokmin says we should try and keep the rest of the apartment a neutral space, and keep our personalities restricted to our rooms.”

 _Seokmin’s full of shit_ —Seungcheol resists saying, opting for a far more impartial, “I suppose he has a point.”

He is trying not to stare at the bedful of plushies, but he can’t keep himself from glancing over every, oh, fraction of a second or so. There’s so many of them, and they seem to be increasing in number every time he looks over. He’s pretty sure the literal rainbow of colours are playing tricks on eyes, because there’s twice as many decorating the bed than there was five seconds ago. 

And they're all staring at him. 

“Do they share your bed every night?”

Jihoon laughs, but his face is pensive, “Don’t be ridiculous, of course not—there’s hardly enough room for all of them _and_ me on the bed. But I’ve drawn up a rota to make sure I cuddle with a different one each night. That way all of them get a turn on the bed and nobody feels left out.”

Coming from absolutely anyone else that would have sounded _ridiculous_. From Jihoon though—Seungcheol can picture the scene easily: Jihoon, cuddling with his ‘Plushie of the day’, while all the other plushies look on sadly.

“Which one’s your favourite?” He finds himself asking.

Jihoon pouts. “I don’t have a favourite. I love them all equally.”

Seungcheol bites the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing.

“I don’t believe that. You must have a favourite.” He points at one of the larger plushies, a Husky in a policeman’s uniform. “I bet it’s that big police dog. That’s why he’s got pride of place in the centre of the bed.”

Jihoon's pout slips slightly, but he seems determined to keep it up, “That’s Barky. I put him there so he can watch over the room and protect the others.”

“Barky huh?” Seungcheol’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard he can taste blood, “So you’ve got names for all of them?”

“ _No_.” Jihoon murmurs, eyes downcast in a way that clearly says he _does_.

“Oh yeah, what’s this one called?” Seungcheol asks, pointing at a small, bird-like stuffed toy closest to him.

Jihoon’s quiet long enough that Seungcheol’s sure he won’t give in to the very strong impulse he must have to introduce him to his stuffed animals. But then, he says quietly, almost under his breath. “Chirpy.”

Seungcheol smirks triumphantly and points at another. “And this one?”

“Meowy.”

“And this one?”

“Quacky.”

Seungcheol’s beginning to see a pattern here.

He picks up a bright red stuffed lobster plushie, with black beady eyes, “And this little guy?”

“Larry.”

“Wai-wha? Really? _Larry_?”

Jihoon frowns and snatches the lobster to safety, cradling it like an infant.

“Yeah, because he’s a _lobster_.” He says, in a way that says he shouldn’t have to explain why—it should be obvious.

“Alright, okay,” Seungcheol says, giving up, even though one of his favourite things is to see how long Jihoon will patiently explain something to him. He shoves his hands into his pockets and scans the room once more, noting other unique items of interest, before his eyes fix on a small sack resting on the windowsill.

“Alright, I gotta ask—why do you have a bag of sunflower seeds on the window?”

Jihoon’s shoulders go tight, defensive, “To..to feed the birds. There’s a family of birds nesting outside, and I like to feed them every morning.”

The burst of affection in Seungcheol's chest nearly overwhelms him.

“Of course you do, _”_ He sighs wistfully, thinking _—Of course you feed the birds every morning you precious human—god, I fucking love you._

Jihoon fiddles with the hem of his shirt, looking anxious, and for one terrifying moment Seungcheol thinks he’s said that out loud. But when Jihoon finally speaks, all he says is, “Please don’t make fun of me Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol’s brain scrambles for a moment as he considers where Jihoon may have gotten _that_ impression from, but he can’t think of a single thing he’s said in the last 5 minutes that could have been misconstrued.

“I’m not making fun of you, Peanut.” He replies earnestly. 

“Then why are you—” Jihoon begins, then forcefully cuts himself off.

There are tight lines of tension around his mouth and forehead. Confusion? Irritation? There’s something in that expression that’s hard to decipher, but before Seungcheol can even start, Jihoon shakes his head like he's trying to get rid of morose thoughts, rattle them out like a martini on the rocks.

 **“** Sorry, I guess I’m just used to everyone teasing me when they see my room.”

There’s no mistaking the emotion there, he sounds hurt, stricken—and Seungcheol feels that in his _gut_. 

“If I had plans to tease you Peanut,” He drawls and lazily saunters into Jihoon’s personal space. “It’s only because you’re extra adorable when you blush.”

As if on cue, Jihoon’s cheeks smear with a pretty pink.

“No, I’m not.” He murmurs, eyes flicking down in embarrassment. His eyelashes are long and smoky, curving sweetly, and it's too easy to forget that Seungcheol is not supposed to stare at them and wonder.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to be the judge of how adorable you are.” Seungcheol says, tinting it with just enough humour that the tiny twitch at the corner of Jihoon's mouth might just be the beginnings of a smile.

“But I don’t want to be adorable.” Jihoon says, eyes sparkling with some unnamed emotion as he looks off to the side, “I want to be respected.”

“You can be both.” Seungcheol assures. “You _are_ both.”

It's all he can think to say, but it’s enough for Jihoon to turn his head and meet his eyes again.

“Do _you_ respect me?” He asks softly, voice raw and vulnerable, the look in his eyes beseeching.

Seungcheol doesn't even need to think about his answer. “Of course, I do Kitten.” Then he winces a second later when he realises the end of that sentence _might_ just have suggested the opposite. “Kind of ruined my point with the cute nickname huh?”

“It’s okay. I like it.” Jihoon shakes his head, smiling so brightly his dimples have emerged in full force. 

Seungcheol’s never had the opportunity to look at his dimples so closely before, and he appreciates them all the more now. Wants to stroke his fingers over them so that they never go away.

He does not however, intend to lift his hand to Jihoon’s face, or to skirt his fingers over the crest of his cheekbone—and he _definitely_ doesn’t intend to get carried away with it and brush his thumb over Jihoon’s lovely lower lip. But a chill of delight runs up his spine and nestles between his shoulder blades when Jihoon _leans_ into the touch; eyes fluttering shut, bright spots of colour in his cheeks and Seungcheol can’t help himself.

He leans in, parts his lips on a shuddering breath and—

“Are we going to eat or what?” Seokmin’s voice comes bellowing down the corridor, and Seungcheol rears back in surprise just as Jihoon’s eyes fly open.

“Oh god, he’s right.” Jihoon chirps brightly. “We don’t want the food to get cold. C’mon!” He grins, then skips out of the room, leaving Seungcheol alone and goggling at the empty doorway. 

* * *

When they do sit down to dinner, Seokmin immediately feels like the third wheel. Not through any fault of his own and not that anyone could be accused of excluding him. They pass dishes around and Jihoon chatters excitedly about every topic under the sun, and Seokmin contributes on occasion—when he’s got something clever or quirky to add, which is more often than not. It’s just that Seungcheol is….

He’s uhm—

 _Well_. He’s clearly distracted.

Seokmin watches Seungcheol as he starts to eat; his motions are precise in a way that suggests growing up with formal dinners at home, napkins and manners and the whole exhausting shebang. And while he doesn’t say much throughout the meal, he nods and smiles and puts away a truly staggering volume of food, which makes Jihoon so fucking happy. But the thing is, every time Seokmin turns to address him or ask him a question directly—he finds that Seungcheol is completely and utterly focused on Jihoon.

Even when Jihoon’s not talking.

And don’t get him wrong, Seokmin’s thrilled that Jihoon’s getting all the attention. God knows he deserves it because he’s worked his little ass off, cooking and cleaning and fretting over napkin folds—but the _way_ Seungcheol is _staring_ at him….

……It’s not usually how people look at Jihoon.

There’s a warm, indulging fondness there, sure, but there’s also something else underneath. Something Seokmin would probably take his clothes off for if it was directed at him. That is of course, if his boss was also the smoking hot guy in his late 30’s with a massive pay-cheque and probably more massive dick currently sharing their dinner table, and not the wizened miserable bastard he actually works for. 

Whatever that look is, Jihoon’s not immune to it, and keeps flushing bright red every time he happens to glance over at Seungcheol. By the 7th time, he manages to meet Seungcheol’s gaze head on and gestures at his plate.

“Are you enjoying the food?”

Seungcheol drops his eyes to his almost empty plate, an amused slant to his mouth, “I think it’s best I withhold my opinion—I don’t want you to pass out again.”

At first, Jihoon doesn’t seem to understand, and then he starts laughing, little hiccupy giggles that are completely different from the quiet, appreciative chuckles he would give to anyone else complimenting him. 

“Stop. It’s not _that_ good.”

“Of course not, that’s why I’m helping myself to _thirds_.” Seungcheol says, stretching out the last word as he piles more pork Bulgogi onto his plate.

Seokmin stifles a laugh as Jihoon lights up like a freakin’ Christmas Tree. He’s never quite managed to skilfully navigate the waters of flattery, and tonight’s no exception; Seungcheol’s faint praise has him practically hiding his face behind his hands in the cutest of ways. Usually whenever he gets this overwhelmed, he tends to flee the room or pass out—but he must covet Seungcheol’s attention, because he picks up his chopsticks and soldiers on.

“Oh, you haven’t tried any of the Gyeran Mari yet.” Jihoon says, gesturing at the platter of egg rolls on his left. “This is my own twist on an old-family recipe, I hope you like it.” He adds, pinching one between his chopsticks.

He’s been furtively adding food to Seungcheol’s plate all meal long, but he holds the egg roll up for Seungcheol to eat, and instead of finding that odd or rude or being surprised, Seungcheol just leans forward and chows down. Like they’ve done this before—like they do it all the time.

Seokmin stares, he can't help himself—because he’s watching Jihoon feed his boss, with his own chopsticks, and Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’s grinning—warm and fond, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as if a metric ton of smitten has just fallen on top of his head.

The moment seems to stretch on forever. Long enough that Seokmin’s tempted to call out ‘Get a room’ to break the tension. But just as he opens his mouth to speak, Seungcheol swallows and says, “I can’t help but notice you’re not wearing a sweater vest.”

“I don’t wear sweater vests all the time.” Jihoon says, attempting an eye-roll, but Seokmin can see how his hands have migrated under the table, probably to twist at his napkin anxiously.

Little does Seungcheol know, Jihoon had in fact spent the better part of two days trying to find something to wear that would impress his ‘incredibly stylish boss’. Something that _‘wasn’t a sweater vest’_ to be more precise, because they both agree fashion isn’t exactly his forte.

“You’ve been wearing sweater vests for as long as I’ve known you. It’s your _thing_.” Seungcheol gestures with his chopsticks. “Are you saying you only wear them to work?”

Jihoon nods, “Yeah, I started wearing them because I figured they’d help me look more professional.”

“So you don’t have like….sweater vest _pyjamas_ that you sleep in?” Seungcheol asks. _Hopefully_?

Jihoon’s gives a cute little snicker into the palm of his hand, despite his obvious efforts to fight it.

“No way!” He wrinkles his nose, “I don’t think there’s such a _thing_ as sweater vest pyjamas Seungcheol. And if there was, I definitely wouldn’t wear them.”

If Seokmin’s not mistaken, and it’s not often that he is, the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth turn down in very _real_ disappointment.

_Jesus._

* * *

After dessert and coffee and a spirited debate about edible glitter, yea or nay, they wind down the evening. Jihoon isn't even aware that he’s walking Seungcheol to the front door, the way some people would do with their _dates_ , until he’s standing at the open front door with a neatly wrapped Tupperware box.

Seungcheol’s leaning against the outside wall, his jacket slung over his shoulder. He smiles warmly at Jihoon and suddenly the air is warmer than Jihoon remembers it. His skin feels tight and sensitive, alert. The hairs at the back of his neck want to stand up.

“Here—this is for you.” He says, handing Seungcheol the box and tearing his eyes away, “I made extra so you can take it home and freeze, and I taped the instructions on how to re-heat everything on the lid. I think it tastes even better when it’s reheated, but you can judge for yourself.”

Without looking up, he can feel Seungcheol watching him in that distant, appraising way of his.

“Thank you, Peanut.” Seungcheol says, and there’s something wry and soft in his voice when his hand casually brushes Jihoon's arm. “And thank you for inviting me. I really appreciate it. I had fun.”

The brief touch could barely be classified as physical contact, and yet, Jihoon's voice cracks, “I—I hope you have a safe trip to Paris. It will be weird not having you in the office for a few days, but I promise to work hard till you get back.”

“What?” Seungcheol exclaims. And when Jihoon finally lifts his head, he finds Seungcheol looking at him with something akin to alarm., “Uh, Jihoon—you _do_ realise you’re coming with me? Right?”

Jihoon blinks at him, waiting for the punch line, but it never comes.

“What? N-no.” Jihoon croaks, forcing himself to let go of the door frame, uncurling his fingers with some difficulty. “I—I only booked for you. Why would I—”

“Because you’re my PA Jihoon.” Seungcheol interrupts impatiently. There’s a rough quality to his voice, a serious intensity as he steps close. “Where I go, you go. How do you expect me to survive a week without you micro-managing my every step when I barely survive the weekends without you around to make sure I eat and keep me sane. I can’t go to Paris on business alone—I need you with me.”

Jihoon’s heart leaps in his chest like it wants out. He’s beginning to feel faint.

“I’m—I’m going to Paris with you?”

Seungcheol's sigh turns into a chuckle at the end, and the sound is warm with affection.

“Yes Jihoon, you’re coming to Paris with—”

* * *

Seokmin’s piling dishes into the sink, debating on whether to let them soak overnight or just trick Jihoon into switching chores with him again, when the doorbell rings. 

"Can you get than Jihoonie?" He calls out, watching the plates get submerged into the soapy water and wondering who that could be at this hour. Seungcheol’s just left and it’s nearing 10pm, so unless he’s left something behind, he can’t imagine who else—

He's barely twisted the tap off when the doorbell rings again, followed by a muted thump. Then another. 

“Alright, alright,” Seokmin calls, peeling off his Marigolds and hurrying down the corridor. Jihoon’s nowhere in sight, so his best guess is he’s locked himself out by accident when he walked Seungcheol out.

Except that theory flies right out the window when he pulls the door open and….

“Oh.” Seokmin's eyebrows shoot up as he takes in the sight of Seungcheol standing in the corridor, a bag of left-overs clenched tightly between his teeth, and an unconscious Jihoon in his arms.

Seokmin scrambles forward to grab the bag before it slips, laughing as Seungcheol breathes an exaggerated ‘Phew’ of relief. 

“Sorry,” Seungcheol chuckles, readjusting his grip until he has Jihoon in a bridal carry, “I had to improvise quickly when he passed out, and I kind of needed one hand free to ring the doorbell. So….”

Seokmin blinks at him, then down at Jihoon, who looks oddly content for a grown, albeit fun-sized man, sleeping in his boss’s arms.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing I swear,” Seungcheol ducks his head, a modesty that doesn't entirely suit him. “I just told him I was taking him to Paris with me. I guess that made him happy.”

“Paris huh? Seems like a good place to confess your undying love.” Seokmin deadpans.

He means it as a joke, he thinks, but Seungcheol eyeballs him so hard it’s a wonder his eyes don’t fall out of his head.

“I—I don’t know what you mean, I wasn’t—” He shakes his head, looking agitated, “It’s a business trip. Purely business.”

 _Sure it is_ —Seokmin thinks, but from the determined look of _DENIAL_ on Seungcheol's face, there is no point in saying it out loud. The guy knows.

“Relax man, it was a joke.” He says instead, and reaches forward to lift Jihoon out of Seungcheol’s arms—only for Seungcheol to elbow past him instead.

“It’s okay, I got this. I know where his room is.” He calls out over his shoulder, navigating his way down the corridor easily.

Seokmin leans against the door and scratches his head, wondering how he’s going to break the news to Jihoon that he needn’t worry about his little crush, because his boss is so clearly _in love_ with him, until Seungcheol reappears in the mouth of the corridor, still carrying a sleeping Jihoon.

Seungcheol gives him a sharp look, then. Turns to stare down the hallway, before locking his eyes back on Seokmin.

Seokmin's honestly not sure what that look is supposed to convey until Seungcheol speaks.

“I’m gonna need you to remove some of the stuffed toys off his bed first.”

“Ah.” Seokmin observes dryly, pushing the front door shut.

Seungcheol steps aside to let him pass, and Seokmin can’t help but think it’s sweet really, how _carefully_ he’s carrying Jihoon. Seungcheol’s a big guy, with a broadness in the shoulders that borders on intimidating, and yet he’s holding Jihoon with such tender caution it’s tooth-rottingly sweet. He even shimmies through the door sideways, so he doesn’t bash Jihoon’s head against the frame, and when Seokmin shoves back the bedcovers, he eases Jihoon down and then tucks them up around his shoulders gently.

Seokmin feels a stab of guilt watching the display of patience unfold, because he’s pretty sure the last time Jihoon passed out he sort of just left him there, covered in popcorn. They’d both laughed when he finally woke up, but watching Seungcheol brush Jihoon’s fringe out of his eyes with such devoted care, he can’t help but feel like the shittiest best friend in the _world_.

“Oh, wait,” Seungcheol says, straightening up. “Do you know where he keeps the rota for which stuffed toy he sleeps with?”

Seokmin stops dead in the centre of the room and turns his head to level Seungcheol a _‘Are you fucking serious?’_ look, but Seungcheol just stares back at him blankly and oh wow, he _is_ fucking serious.

Seokmin shakes his head, “No, I do not.”

Seungcheol puffs out a frustrated breath and then gestures at the mountain of plushies piled in the corner. “Do you think he’ll be upset if I just pick one at random? I think he likes the lobster the most, cause he got pretty possessive about it earlier, but I don’t want to pick one and get it wrong.”

Seokmin just stares at him disbelieving for an age, before breaking into a slow grin. “Seungcheol—dude. I don’t know if you realise this yet, but you have it bad. Like—really, _really_ bad.”

Seungcheol stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish but also pleased.

“Yeah, I _know_.”


End file.
